Everett's Principle
by Gnome Ignominious
Summary: Wilson dozed off on an ordinary day, doing ordinary paperwork, but when he wakes up, he discovers something truly extraordinary... Wilson-centric, Hilson friendship, House/Stacy. Chapter 11 now up!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Wilson is from somewhere in S7, but no-one matches up to his expectations.

* * *

**Chapter one, in which Wilson is mystified by the powers of a good nap...**

* * *

Wilson jolted awake, roused by some noise that he couldn't place. He had dozed off while doing paperwork in his office and his back ached from the uncomfortable position he'd slumped into. He wearily pulled his eyes back to his paperwork when a knock came at the door.

"Come in," he called and looked up to see none other than Allison Cameron. "Wh-what are you doing here?" he asked, completely stunned.

"Um... House needs an oncology consult." She seemed surprised at his question. "You're an oncologist."

"Yeah." He frowned. "But you left here over a year ago! You divorced Chase! You said you were going somewhere in Arizona, right? Did Cuddy re-hire you or something?" He stopped at the evident confusion on her face.

"What are you talking about, Wilson?"

"You are Dr Allison Cameron?" She nodded. "Well, I've not gone crazy, then!" He laughed, but stopped himself. She looked very worried. And now he came to think of it, she didn't look right. She had her natural brown hair, but looked older than when he last saw her like that.

"Who did you think I was?" she asked carefully.

Wilson frowned. Had he dreamt the last five or so years?

"Wilson! Are you ok?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure I am."

"Do you feel sick, disorientated, dizzy perhaps?"  
He thought for a moment.

"No but there's something not quite right. I can't put my finger on it though. It almost feels like I haven't properly woken up from a dream."

"Ok." Cameron still looked worried. "You didn't seem to recognise me just then."

"Yeah. I must've had a really strange dream. You'll laugh at me when I say this, but it feels like... well, it feels as though I dreamed the future!"

"Right, well I can prove the date to you, then you'll know it wasn't a dream."

"Go on then."

"It's the 1st of November, 2010." She showed him the date on her phone and then indicated his desk calendar. They both showed the same date.

"See?"

"But... but... I don't understand! You're the Cameron I know from five years ago! I remember you looking like this in 2005! This is crazy, what the hell is going on?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two, in which Wilson and Cameron talk things over, with worrying conclusions...**

* * *

Cameron chewed her lip as Wilson wore a path into his office carpet. Abruptly he stopped.

"Do you believe in alternate dimensions?" he asked to the air then spun on his heel to stare at Cameron.

"Um.. I've never really given it much thought. I think maybe you should sit down." Wilson plumped onto the couch and his hand went straight to the back of his neck.

"What if this is one?"

"Wilson, this world is real. I'm real, you're real; now please will you explain to me what's got you into this state?"

"No, don't you get it? This world isn't real to me- I'm sure of it! Before I fell asleep, I was in 2010, but a 2010 where you had left the hospital after divorcing Chase and also had different hair!"

"Chase and I aren't married."

"I know. Are you finally starting to see sense?"

"No, I mean we've never been married. I have been on House's team along with Chase and Foreman-does he exist in your reality?-" Wilson nodded in affirmation. "-for about six years now. No one has left, no one has been married or divorced and we are all getting along just fine anyway."

"Six years? But-" Wilson suddenly caught sight of the wedding ring on his left hand. A terrible cold chill came over him. He was married? To which one of his wives in this messed up timescale? Or could it be to someone else entirely?

"Cameron. Who's my wife?"

She looked at him. "Bonnie, why?"

"Well, I'm not married in my world. I have been, in the past, but not anymore."

"Ok." There was a beat of silence. "This is really messed up."

"I know." Wilson's voice cracked. "What if I can't get back? I don't even know how this happened to start with!" A note of panic was creeping into his voice.

"You have to stay calm, Wilson. I think it would help if we establish exactly what's different between the two supposed worlds."

"What good will that do?"

"Look, it's either that or you go get a pysche evaluation."

"Ok. Where do we start then?"

"Maybe start with people? Describe what they're like or something. I know, tell me about your version of House. He's probably exactly the same."

"Rude, crippled and a genius?" Cameron almost smiled, but the worried look was still in her eyes. "Well, here goes..."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three, in which Wilson gets a surprise...**

* * *

Cameron's eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline and her neck ached from shaking it so much by the time Wilson had finished his account.

"...so that brings us up to this point, roughly speaking," he said. "I can tell by your face that things are a little different here."

"A little!" She almost choked on the words. "I am still reluctant to believe all this, but there's no way you could have made all that up. It's far too intricate." She seemed to be examining him rather like an interesting chemical reaction; not wanting to miss the action, but not wanting to get too close, for fear of being scalded. They pondered a minute, then Wilson broke the silence.

"What's it like here then?"

"I... I don't think I should say."

"Well why the hell not?" he exclaimed. "If you don't tell me then I will just walk straight out of here and ask House. He's always up for crazy-ass things going on around here. He'd probably believe me more readily than you!"

Cameron looked extremely worried. "I really don't think that's a very good idea."

"Why not?" He frowned, the lightbulb going on above his head. "House is different, isn't he? Was his infarction worse? Is he in a wheelchair? What are you not telling me?" He was almost shouting but stopped, tears pricking his eyes. He hastily scrubbed them away. "Please, Allison. Don't I deserve to know?"

Cameron sighed. "It's not that it's worse," she started. Wilson exhaled in relief. "It's... better... for House, I suppose." She sighed again, clearly having difficulty with what she needed to say. "He... in this world... he didn't have an infarction. He-" she was cut off by a brusque knock at the door, but the knocker didn't wait for invitation and just opened the door. Wilson's eyes widened and he gulped at the sight of House.

"How long does it take to get a consult?" asked House of the room at large, then frowned at the look on Wilson's face. "Wilson-are you ok?" But he got no further, as Wilson promptly fainted dead away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4, in which Wilson and House both make astonishing discoveries...**

* * *

Wilson jolted back awake suddenly as someone splashed cold water on his face. For a moment he was disorientated, but the world quickly flooded in and made itself known. He was lying awkwardly on the sofa in his office with Cameron and House's concerned faces looking down at him. Seeing House reminded him of why he had fainted. He took another look to make sure that it wasn't just his eyes playing tricks and realised why Cameron had been reluctant to tell him about her version of House. He was very different.

For starters, there was no cane in sight; instead he was supporting himself on a pair of plain black crutches and the need for these was evident; his entire right leg, up to the hip, was missing. In addition, Wilson could see the the back of his right hand was covered in an old burn scar and on the right side of his neck another scar, or perhaps the continuation of the first protruded from his shirt collar to end just below his ear. He was also dressed smartly (for House). He was wearing black, presumably tailored slacks, as they had been fitted to the remains of his leg, a dark blue (ironed!) shirt and the one similarity to the familiar version, sneakers (or rather one, and it was plain black, as opposed to the garish orange and white that Wilson was used to). One final detail that caught his eye was the gold wedding band on House's ring finger.

Wilson's eyes felt like they were about to come out on cartoonish springs and he almost fainted again, just for the hell of it. In actuality, he cleared his throat, blinked and croaked, "What the bloody hell happened to you?"

House frowned. "I could say the same to you! After all, it's not every day someone faints as I walk into a room. I want to preserve this moment for posterity!"

"House. House..." Wilson didn't know how to explain the situation and looked helplessly at Cameron. She looked at him and rolled her eyes.

"You're expecting me to explain this?"

"Please?" Wilson whispered. House was looking really confused by now.

"House, come outside a second," she said and he followed her out the door.

* * *

Wilson put his head in his hands and tried not to imagine the conversation going on in the hallway. Was this what Cameron meant when she said that this version was better for House? He assumed that she meant he wasn't in constant pain here, but how much better was his quality of life? He looked like he'd been in the wars or a really bad fire. Wilson dragged his thoughts away from images of a screaming, burnt House and focused instead on the anomaly of the wedding ring. It was very out of character for House; Wilson had assumed that once Stacy was finished, House was done with long-term, meaningful relationships for good, but it seemed he was wrong. Did he have a proper family now; a wife, a dog, 2.5 kids and a picket fence? Wilson laughed at that notion, almost hysterically. He was sure he was going mad. His laughter was cut short by House and Cameron coming back in; Cameron looked relieved and unburdened, House was inscrutable. He crutched over to the couch and sat down next to Wilson, who found the absence of a leg next to him somewhat disconcerting. Cameron seemed awkward; she mumbled something about going to run the next test on the patient and made a hurried exit.

House cleared his throat. "Judging by your reaction when I came in earlier and what Cameron has told me, I am inclined to believe you. You are from some kind of alternate dimension where everyone's different and events have played out in different ways."

Wilson thanked god that House was on his side.

"I hear that in your world things are somewhat worse for me?" House's tone was charged with curiosity.

"Um, yeah, an aneurysm in your thigh clotted causing muscle death in your leg, so eventually they had to cut the necrotic muscle out. You're... well, you're in chronic pain and pretty much can't survive without narcotics."

"Wow. Guess the other me got the short end of the stick. Was I serving when it happened, or had I already quit? Did it get me discharged?"

"Huh?"

"You know, the Marines. Was that what got me discharged?"

"You were never in the Marines."

House looked shocked. "What? But it was my life-long ambition, ever since I was a kid! I always wanted to follow in my dad's footsteps."

"Uh, I don't think you ever saw it like that. In fact, it was because your dad served that put you off the armed forces for life."

House said nothing. He was clearly struggling with this new information. Wilson interrupted the thought processes.

"So, you gonna tell me what happened to you then?" He gestured to the space where House's leg normally was.

"Yeah, sure. Basically, I wanted to be in the Marines, but I was also interested in medicine, so my dad suggested why not combine them and become a doctor in the Marines. I was serving in Afghanistan about ten years ago now when a patrol squad near the field hospital got ambushed. There were about ten men down and not enough left in camp for a back-up team, so I went to make up numbers and perform first aid if I could. We were under heavy fire, but we managed to recover six of the men and I went back for another. Unfortunately, the ambushers had set up some IEDs and one exploded as I got near to the guy. Blew my leg clean off and also set two nearby cars on fire, which is how I got the burn scars. They pretty much cover my back and right side. Anyway, I obviously blacked out and woke up in the field hospital. Soon after I was flown out with the surviving members of the ambushed patrol to recover over here. I obviously couldn't serve any longer, so I was discharged with full honours. I didn't want to live on disability for the rest of my life, plus I've got a family to support, so I got a job here as head of Diagnostics. It's not a very active job, so it's fairly easy and keeps me busy."

"Blimey. That's some story."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You mentioned a family... do you mind me asking...?"

"Of course not." House pulled his wallet out and showed Wilson a picture. "This was taken a couple of years ago. That's me, obviously, that's Stacy, my wife and those are our kids; Joel's ten now, Alex is six and Lucy's five."

Wilson gawped at the clearly happy family; House and Stacy with their arms around each other and their three dark haired children, who all seemed to share their father's mischevious grin and their mother's arched eyebrows. He knew he wouldn't believe this until he saw them all together with his own eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5, in which Wilson does some research...**

* * *

Wilson spent the rest of the day with patients, rounds and paperwork, but in some spare time between appointments he'd done some research into parallel universes and alternate dimensions and the results were both shocking and (Wilson almost hated to admit it) plausible. He'd stumbled upon an old article on Stanford University's philosophy pages and after a couple of minutes skim reading he was positively astonished. In early 1957, a man named Hugh Everett had completed his PhD studies at Princeton University. Wilson had realised that he could see the very building Everett had been in from his office window. Everett's doctoral thesis was about relative-state formulation of quantum mechanics, and although this meant nothing to him, seeing as he was an oncologist, something half-way down the page caught his eye. It seemed there could be several interpretations of Everett's theories and the most popular was the "many-worlds" scenario, in which every possible outcome of anything can exist at once. Schrodinger's cat was a famous example of this principle in action. Wilson wondered if this was what had happened to him; somewhere, way back in the past, either he, or House, or someone close to them had made a decision which drastically impacted their lives. Wilson cast his mind back to when he'd first met House, wondering if it was something around then, but his musings were cut off by a sharp knock and then House's head poking around the door.

"Everything okay?" he asked, plonking himself down in the chair opposite Wilson. Wilson still couldn't get over the fact that House had been in the Marines and was missing a limb because of it.

Wilson sighed. "Yeah, I've only been dropped into a parallel universe where nothing's the same and no one knows except you, me and Cameron. An average day, really."

"All right, no need to be sarcastic."

"There's always need with you."

House gave a small smile. "So what's the big news? Your research turned up something good, right?"

"How did you-?"

"I know you, you're not just going to sit there and take this, you're almost as curious as me, just nicer when you go after information. It must be something important, otherwise you'd be slumped about half a centimetre further down in your chair."

"You should meet your other self- he might actually get along well with somone for once."

"Bitter and miserable, is he?"

"Yeah. You always were a little... off, but then after your leg, and Stacy leaving... it just got worse. I'm pretty much your only friend and you have big trust issues, especially when it comes to medical decisions involving you."

House's ears had visibly pricked up at the mention of Stacy.

"Stacy... as in lawyer Stacy? My wife? She exists in your world?"

"Yeah, you lived together for five years, until you had the infarction. She authorised the debridement surgery against your will, but it really was the only option, as you'd said no to amputation."

"Wait, where was I when this was all going on?"

"The pain was so bad after the clot was extracted from your thigh that they put you in a coma. Your heart had already stopped from the flood of toxins and electrolytes going back into your blood stream, so it was the safest thing to do."

"Shit." House looked shocked. "You say 'they'. Weren't you around?"

"No, I was at a conference, but Dr Cuddy was the attending on your case. She's Dean of Medicine in my world and was even then. Is she here?"

"Yeah. She's been Dean for about ten years. Personally invited me to apply for this post; I knew her peripherally in college and I think she had the hots for me. But that's all water under the bridge now. I suppose the infarction was the final nail in the coffin of mine and Stacy's relationship?"

"Yes, it was. There was a lot of guilt and resentment, and I think, in the end it was for the best."

"It's weird thinking about this stuff... I honestly can't imagine what I'd do without her."

Now it was Wilson's turn to be shocked. Was House actually being sentimental? Was he openly expressing love and affection for someon other than himself? One decision. One choice. That was the only difference between this House and the one he knew.

House frowned, as though he could hear Wilson's thoughts. "You never told me the fruits of your labours."

"That's true. Believe me, you will be surprised to hear this. It's very close to home." Wilson proceeded to relate all that he'd found out about Hugh Everett and his doctoral thesis. When he'd finished, House seemed impressed.

"It certainly seems conceivable. No idea how you actually go from one decision universe to another, though."

"Me neither, but I noticed something today. All my patients are the same as in my world. They are my current cases, diagnoses, everything."

"Which means," House said. "The only major difference is me and my situation. And seeing as you are in both worlds, in the same role, it must be a decision made long ago, probably before we even met."

"That does make sense," Wilson said. He had an idea formulating in the back of his mind, but it hadn't come to full fruition yet. He would ask House about it later.

"While I'm here," House said. "Fancy coming over for dinner tonight?"

* * *

**A/N:** Read the article that Wilson read here: plato (.) stanford (.) edu/entries/qm-everett/

Also, here's something to freak you out: I came up with the name Everett's Principle completely randomly; it was an utter coincidence that Everett was a real guy, with a real theory, and that that theory happened to be the subject of this story. Yes, I was slightly worried about whether I have psychic powers after researching it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6, in which Wilson meets the family...**

* * *

The drive over to House's place was silent, each man absorbed in his own thoughts. House had informed Wilson that on Monday nights Bonnie had a book group that went on until about 9:30 in the evening, so, whilst it wasn't a regular occurrence for Wilson to eat at House's, it wasn't unheard of.

Wilson's apprehension grew as they wound through the Princeton streets. He wondered why they weren't heading for House's apartment, then immediately berated himself for expecting five people to be living in a one bedroom flat. The House in this world had probably never even been there, let alone lived in the place.

"Nearly there now." House broke the silence as he turned into a residential street. About halfway down he pulled into a drive-way and switched off the engine. "This is it."  
He opened the door, but Wilson caught his arm to stop him from getting out.

"Wait!" he exclaimed. "I don't know a single thing about your kids, what they're like, what you're all like as a family... how am I meant to just walk in there and make conversation? Give me some background information, or something."

House nodded. "Well, Joel's ten, as you know, very sporty, quite protective of his siblings; Alex is quiet, smart, takes after his mother more than me, interested in geography- y'know, globes, atlases and stuff; and then there's Lucy. She gets spoilt a bit- mainly by me. Loves dogs and puppies; Stacy and I are planning on getting a puppy for them all for Christmas. Don't let that slip."

"Okay, so how do I act? I take it they know me quite well."

"Yep, you're their Uncle James; you wrestle with Joel, take Alex to the bookstore, give candy to Lucy and pick them up from school when me and Stacy can't. You're a third parent, basically."

"Right... okay... phew." Wilson took a few deep calming breaths. House looked on, face serious, eyes amused. "Here goes."  
House patted him on the back (Wilson hid his surprise at the contact) and pulled himself out of the car, retrieving his crutches from the back seat. "Good luck," he said.

They headed up to the front door.

"I take it Stacy knows I'm coming?"

"Yeah, I called her earlier. I... I might tell her later on about this... situation."

"What? Do you think she'll believe you?"

" Yes. We trust each other."

Wilson followed House in through the door in a dreamlike state after hearing that sentence being uttered by his friend. Inside, it wasn't much better. Wilson felt slightly unsettled at witnessing House being hugged by his children. _His_ children. His _children_. His children, for Chrissakes! Wilson very nearly turned around and ran out the door, but Stacy had already seen him.

"Hey James, how are you?"

"Um... fine, thanks." Act normal, act normal, dear god, act normal. Wilson tried to hide the sweat shooting from his palms.

"Joel, lay the table, would you?" Stacy called after the boys, who were trying to sneak away. House and Lucy had disappeared into what Wilson presumed was the kitchen.

The older boy groaned and called to his sibling.

"Alex, mom asked you to go lay the table!"

"What? Mom? Joel's lying!"

Stacy rolled her eyes. "Never mind, you two, go play. Dinner will be ready soon."

They quickly made their escape, matching grins on their faces. "Yup, those kids are all House," Wilson thought.

"Come on in, James," Stacy said and he followed her into the kitchen. House was sat at the table whilst Lucy showed him some drawings, pointing out who was who. Stacy handed both the men a bottle of beer and went over to stir the food.

"See Daddy? That's me, you, Mommy, Joel and Alex." House nodded appreciatively.

"Yeah, I see it. Good stuff, kiddo." Wilson noticed there was no trace of sarcasm in his voice.

Lucy turned around and noticed him. She grinned and flung herself at him. "Uncle James!"

House's eyes pierced his and he found his voice from somewhere. "Hey, kid, good day at school?"

"Uh huh. Come see my picture." Wilson went over to examine the little girl's artwork. It wasn't brilliant, Wilson thought, but then she was only five. He noticed with a jolt that the stick-figure House only had one leg. He realised that none of the children had known him any other way and wondered how House felt about that. Wilson knew he felt very inadequate physically after the infarction; did the same hold true here?

"Nice," he commented. "You got your daddy just right." Wilson felt House's eyes on him again. So the leg was a touchy subject, just not in front of the kids.

"That's what Miss Walker said," Lucy replied. "But she says that to everyone, just to be nice, I think."

Wilson was surprised. "She's so perceptive."

Stacy turned away from the stove. "I know, after her first day at school, she came home and told us that there was a bully at school. Greg asked why she thought that and she said a boy in class had bruises all up his arm. Two months later, the gossip amongst the moms was that the boy's parents were being investigated for abuse after their teacher noticed the injuries. _Two months_ later!"

House smiled. "That's my girl," he said proudly. "Now, wanna help me lay the table?"

"Okay, Daddy." She went over to the cabinet and waited for House to crutch his way over. He leaned against the cabinet, opened the drawer which was too high for Lucy to reach properly and began passing her the cutlery. She went back and forth, placing it on the table. The two did the same with the plates and when they were done, went and sat back down. Wilson almost chuckled at this simple solution to the problem of House not being able to carry and walk. It was so completely domestic.

Stacy stuck her head out the kitchen door. "Boys!" she called. She sat down and tens seconds later Alex and Joel came in, plonking themselves down at the table. Stacy served up the food. "Dig in, everyone."

* * *

**A/N: Not too keen on this chapter, but it needed posting... tell me what you think.**

** There'll be a couple more chapters on the House family etc and then we'll dig into the real reason as to why Wilson's here...**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7, in which Wilson feels at home...**

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair and Wilson quickly found himself relaxing. He felt a deep sense of belonging with House and his family and a small smile crept onto his face as he listened to the conversation around the table. Joel was talking to House about the upcoming soccer season.

"Dad, Coach Jeffries wants me to try out for the team. He says he needs someone who can run fast to play striker."

"Well, go for it then. You don't need me to tell you that."

"Awesome. The tryouts are Wednesday after school, I think. You could come watch?"

"Sure. Wilson'll come too, right Wilson?"

Wilson cleared his throat. "Uh... yeah, why not?"

Joel looked pleased. "Cool!"

"Greg," Stacy interjected. "He's a little young for soccer, don't you think? I don't want him getting hurt."

"Relax, he'll be fine. He can outrun kids five years older than him. I'm sure Jeffries knows what he's doing."

"That may be so, but I've seen some of those youth league games; they can get pretty violent."

"Stacy, it's only soccer. If he wants to start kick boxing, then you can stress out."

Joel joined in. "Please Mom. I might not get another chance."

She relented. "Okay, but Greg, you have to speak to Coach Jeffries about it. If you don't I will."

Joel grinned. "Thanks Mom."

"Daddy," Lucy said. House high-fived Joel and turned back towards his daughter. "Yep?"

"If we had a little puppy, what would we call it?"

House and Stacy shared a glance and a small smile.

"I don't know. It would be a group decision."

"Cos I like the name Rufus. Or Malley. Or Bernard."

Stacy hid a grin in her hand.

"Well," House drew out the word. "Those are good names."

Alex spoke up. "How 'bout we get an Irish Setter and call it Rufus O'Malley?"

There were smiles all round at that.

"Your mom and I will have a think," House said. "We're not making any promises."

Stacy nodded sagely. Wilson could see the longing on each child's face.

"Is everyone done eating?" Stacy asked. There was a general response of satisfied murmurs and she got up to clear the plates away. Wilson stood up too.

"Let me help you with that," he said and took a couple of plates and the salad dish through to the kitchen. He caught sight of House's expression; longing, but not for a dog, simply the ability to help his own wife clear up after dinner in his own house and obvious envy at Wilson's easy movements. Wilson cursed himself for his tactless offer and quickly deposited the plates in the dishwasher, returning to the table. Joel and Lucy had vanished, but Alex was sat talking to his dad.

"I don't want to!"

"All right Alex, I didn't say you had to! I was just checking you weren't interested."

"I don't care about stupid Joel and his dumb soccer games. I don't want to do any of that stuff."

"I know, kid. I'm sorry for pushing you into it, okay? I just don't want you to miss out."

Alex abruptly got down from the table and left the room, head down and hands in pockets. House's shoulders slumped and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I really don't get that kid sometimes. When I was his age, I barely spent any time indoors. My parents encouraged me to go out and have fun running around. I just don't see why that doesn't appeal to him."

Wilson sighed. "You don't think you're projecting yourself on to him too much? Trying to get him to enjoy what you can't?"

House nodded. "That's what Stacy says. You're both right, of course. I know it. I just don't want him to end up like me, regretting every minute that wasn't spent using his body to its full potential."

Wilson suddenly thought of something. "Don't you ever use a prosthesis? You're talking like you can never walk or run again."

The other man shook his head. "Unfortunately I have literally no femur left at all, so no hip joint, so no movement at all. Nothing to attach a prosthetic leg to. I'm stuck with crutches for life."

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing you can do about it."

Stacy came back in and squeezed her husband's shoulder. House's hand came up automatically to take hers.

"What's got you two so gloomy all of a sudden?"

"Just... talking about my leg."

Stacy leant down and kissed House. "There. All better?"

He smiled. "Thanks."

Internally, Wilson was stunned. Utterly stunned. He marvelled again at how one small choice had led to this amazing difference in just one man. He glanced at his watch. "I should probably go," he said, then remembered that he'd left his car at the hospital, House having driven them both here.

"Don't worry, I'll drive you home," House said, pulling himself to his feet and balancing on his crutches. "You can get a cab in to work tomorrow. Or call me and I'll pick you up."

"Okay. Well, thanks for the dinner Stacy, nice to be seeing you again." Wilson hoped that they really hadn't seen each other in a while.

"You too," she replied. "Drive safely, Greg."

* * *

Once they were on their way to Wilson's, House turned to him.

"So, how'd you find the family?"

"Nice. Really nice. Very strange to see you like that, but nice."

House smiled. "You did a good job of... pretending. I think Stacy may suspect something, but I've made up my mind to tell her anyway."

"Okay. I hope she believes you."

"Me too."

House stopped the car outside an apartment block. Wilson recognised it as the very same one where he'd lived with Bonnie in his world. Thank god for that.

"Are you going to be okay here?"

"Yeah. None of this is different in my world. Me and Bonnie are divorced, but we used to live here. It shouldn't be too hard to fit back into that old life."

"See you tomorrow then."

"Night, House."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8, in which House and Stacy talk...**

* * *

House drove back home quickly, snapshots from his day whizzing around in his head. It was hard to believe that the ever dependable and reliable Wilson had vanished, to be replaced by… himself. There was nothing different in the way he acted, but he spoke to House slightly differently, almost as though he was carefully weighing each sentence before saying it. He had been obviously nervous around Stacy and the children and that only made House more inclined to trust what Wilson was saying...  
He was from a parallel universe where House himself was entirely different, but it could all be traced back to one decision, made long ago. House wondered what that desicion could be, but he realized he didn't know enough about his parallel identity to even make an educated guess. He pulled into his driveway and sighed. He was going to have a hard time explaining this to Stacy.

He quickly crutched inside, locking the front door behind him and taking his shoe off. He went into the living room to find Stacy curled up on the couch watching TV with a glass of wine. He sat down next to her and she laid her head on his shoulder.

"Hey."

"Hey. Anything good on?"

"Only the news. There's been a fire in some warehouses on the edge of town."

House shivered. Even ten years after the fact, fire still made him nervous. His burn scars tingled slightly. Stacy looked at him sympathetically and kissed the scars where they marred the skin of his neck, trailing her lips down to his shirt collar.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"It's okay. One day I'll get over it."

"Not a day too soon."

They sat and watched in silence for a while, the newsreader's droning voice filling the room.

"James seemed to be acting a little odd this evening."

House decided to play it safe. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, the way he offered to help after dinner; he knows you're touchy about your leg and he's not usually that tactless. He was also pretty quiet whilst we were eating- normally he wants to hear every detail of the kid's days. Did he get some bad news today? Is everything okay with Bonnie?"

"I guess you could say… he found out something shocking this morning." House knew Stacy wouldn't leave it at that.

"What was it?"

"He… um… I don't know how to phrase this… Stacy, you have to trust me with this, okay?" He looked deep into her eyes.

She nodded. "Whatever you say."

"Wilson… isn't the usual Wilson. This guy is from some parallel universe where… well, let's just say things are worse for all involved. When I went into his office this morning, he fainted at the sight of me, because I'm apparently completely different in his universe."

Stacy was staring in open-mouthed shock.

"Is that even possible? How-?"

"I don't know. Wilson looked up a few articles and showed me some old Princeton student's theorem about it… it's related to Schrödinger's cat in some way. Basically, every time anyone makes a decision, a parallel universe splits off where the opposite decision was made. He reckons the decision was made along time ago to cause such massive differences in the worlds."

"So the Wilson who was here earlier is normally in some other universe? How did he get here? And where's our Wilson, for that matter?"

"I really don't know. The theorems apparently didn't explain that far."

"This is crazy."

"I know Stace, but you _have_ to believe me."

Stacy sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

"If you believe Wilson, and you're sure he hasn't just gone mad then… I believe you."

"Thank you."

She looked up at him. "So what do we do?"

"I have no idea. Just wait it out, I suppose. Hope that he goes back where he came from and we get our original version of him back too."

"It's late. Let's go to bed." She helped House up from the sofa and handed him his crutches and they made their way upstairs and into their bedroom.

House sat down on the bed to get undressed and pulled on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. Stacy undressed and slid under the covers.

"I'll just go check on the kids," House said softly and crutched his way from the room, the right leg of his pants trailing slightly along the floor. He poked his head into the boys' room and, seeing they were both sound asleep, continued along the landing to Lucy's room. He leant against the doorjamb for a moment watching his daughter toss and turn restlessly in her sleep. Recently, she'd been having a string of bad nightmares and both House and Stacy were worried about her, as she wouldn't tell them what they were about. House silently cursed the click of his crutches as he took a step into her room.

"Daddy?" Lucy's quiet voice called out to him, followed by a sniffle.

"I'm right here Luce." He moved nearer and sat down on the end of her bed, reaching one long arm out to smooth down her hair. "Did you have another nightmare?"

"Uh huh," she mumbled. House thought she was probably still half asleep. He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Lucy's bottom lip quivered and some more tears spilled over.

"It was the bad men, Daddy. They… they killed you," she whispered and House pulled her into his arms and rocked her comfortingly.

"Which bad men, Luce? Who do you mean?"

"The bad soldiers where you went away to fight. This time they didn't just take your leg, Daddy, they killed you!"

"Oh, Lucy! I promise that is _never_ going to happen, okay? I never have to go away and fight ever again and those bad soldiers are thousands of miles away. They can't hurt any of us here. Not me, or mom, or your brothers. No one is going to get killed."

House continued to soothe Lucy until her tears slowed down. After about ten minutes, she had fallen back to sleep and House laid her down gently and left the room as quietly as he could.

Stacy looked up as he came back in to their bedroom and saw the hollow look in his eyes.

"Greg? Are you okay?"

"Lucy had another nightmare. She told me she dreamed that 'the bad soldiers' didn't just take my leg, they killed me." His voice was a little hoarse. "I've traumatized my own children." He sat down on the bed, facing away from his wife.

"Gregory House, don't you dare say that! Your children love you and admire you for what you did out there in Afghanistan! They know you saved people's lives! It's understandable that they worry for your safety sometimes and that doesn't mean they're traumatized. It means they care for their father and don't want to see him get hurt!"

Stacy rounded the bed and sat down beside him, but he didn't make eye contact.

"What I did wasn't heroic. It was just in the line of duty. It was an expectation. I'm not special."

"Cut the crap, Greg, you have a uniform in that closet covered in medals that says otherwise."

"That day was the worst day of my life. I watched my friends die around me. I experienced pain like I had never felt before. I don't want a medal for that."

"I know." Stacy hated it when Greg got into one of his depressed moods like this; she never knew what she could say to comfort him. She did the only thing she could think of: wrapping her arms around his muscular frame, she hugged him tight and kissed his cheek, then moved back onto her side of the bed again, turning the lamp on her nightstand off as she did so. House lay down next to her and pulled the covers up, one hand going down to feel his stub of a leg through his pants. He felt Stacy's small hand cover his.

"I love you, Greg. You know this doesn't matter to me."

"I know." He was silent for a minute, a small sniff the only thing Stacy heard in the dark room.

"God I love you so much," he whispered, his voice thick.

Their lips found each other's in the darkness and they soon fell asleep, each comforted by the other.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine, in which Wilson finds out this world isn't as good as it first seemed...

* * *

"Get out!"

Wilson flinched as a glass of red wine splashed in his face, dripping down his neck and staining his shirt with little blood-red rivulets.

"Bonnie, I just-" He was cut off by the front door of his apartment slamming in his face. He sighed and ran a sleeve over his face, trying to mop up the wine.

The door suddenly opened again and a suitcase of his clothes was thrust at him.

"Bonnie, what did I do? Please talk to me!"

"You cheated, you bastard!" she screamed vehemently. "Now just go running off to House like you always do- in fact, it wouldn't surprise me if you were cheating on me with him!"

"What?" Wilson was left speechless as the door slammed in his face again. Why hadn't House told him about his marital troubles? He would never have gone home if he knew this was what he was going to!

He sank to the floor and put his head in his hands. He wanted desperately to get home, back to his own universe. He hated how everything was identical here, except people. He wanted his old life back, the one where he was at least happy.

Wilson realised how selfish that was of him. Here, House was the one happy and in a stable, loving relationship, and all he wanted to do was get away. He felt torn. He knew if he ever had the choice of going back to his own world, or staying in this one, he would find it almost impossible to decide.

He heaved a sigh and looked at his watch. 11:03. It didn't really seem fair to call House again. A hotel it was then. He picked up his suitcase and walked dejectedly down the hall and out into the cold night air. He fished a coat out of his bag and meandered slowly down the pavement, seriously considering going to the nearest bar and getting hammered, but he pushed down the thought. He needed to be at work tomorrow.

He turned the corner and crossed the street, making a beeline for the hotel two blocks away. It was a faceless, nameless institute, designed solely with the purpose of housing drunken business travellers and soulless executives too cheap to cough up more than $70 a night. The place suited his mood perfectly and he quickly checked in, the tired-looking receptionist giving him a sympathetic look as he caught sight of Wilson's wine-stained shirt.

The room was small and drab. Wilson downed a few mouthfuls of the strongest liquor in the mini-bar and fell asleep in front of the TV, feeling utterly sorry for himself.

The pale morning sunlight slanted through the blinds, rousing Wilson from an unsettled sleep. He couldn't quite remember what he'd been dreaming about, but it left him with a deep sense of unease and a strong longing to get back home, to his own world. He began to realise the true weight of circumstances both here and at home; here, House was happy and had a strong family surrounding him and Wilson was the one with the crappy home life. Back in his own universe, House was the one who usually ended up alone and miserable, whereas Wilson managed to get whatever woman he wanted.

He wondered if he would ever get the chance to return to his own world. He knew it would be a tough decision to make; he wanted to stay here and watch House enjoy the life Wilson had always wanted for him, but at the same time, Wilson had a compelling urge to leave this universe behind. Everything grated on him slightly; the air, birdsong, traffic, people's voices; it was all slightly different and it made his skin crawl. He needed to get away.

He hoped he wouldn't have to actively make the choice to leave. After all, Wilson thought, he'd been dumped here seemingly at random; he could just pray that he'd be sent back again in much the same fashion. Unfortunately, Wilson's logical side took over the desperate part of him, urging him to investigate the situation further. Wilson had an itching desire to see if he could find out the exact decision that had lead to the enormous differences between the worlds and he made up his mind to do everything he could to find out.

He sighed. He supposed he'd better call House and ask for a lift into work, but he didn't want to provoke the endless questioning that car journey would inevitably bring.

"_What's up with you and Bonnie?" _

"_Why did you sleep in a hotel?" _

"_Is it time to start looking for the next ex-Mrs Wilson?"_

He could really do without all of that, so he ordered a taxi and made it to work half an hour earlier than his normal time. He was relieved to see his clear schedule and settled down to paperwork, starting with his department's quarterly budget report.

Three hours later, he considered calling Bonnie, but thought better of it. She'd probably hang up on him anyway, judging by her mood last night. She'd been furious, God knows why. Wilson theorized that his other self must have cheated, and Bonnie had somehow found out or guessed. He remembered how the marriage had ended the first time round; in much the same way, in fact. She'd thrown him out and he'd gone to stay at House's place.

The differences between the worlds was hammered home yet again, in a way Wilson didn't like. Here, he had no friend to turn to in his time of need. House had a family here; he couldn't spend three months on his couch. He was on his own. Alone and miserable.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, Wilson swinging wildly between manic bouts of paperwork and dull, melancholy brooding. Finally, five o'clock swung round and Wilson packed up his things and left the hospital, heading back to his apartment to try and talk to his wife.

There was no answer when he knocked on the door, so Wilson used his key and hoped he wasn't going to get another glass of wine thrown at him. He entered the silent apartment and looked around.

"Bonnie?" No answer. Wilson's shoulders relaxed slightly. Maybe she wasn't in, maybe he could postpone this to another day. A bubbling, hissing sound caught his attention and he followed the noise into the kitchen. A pan of pasta was boiling over on the stove and he quickly crossed the room and turned the heat down.

"Bonnie?" he called again, a hint of urgency in his tone. Could she really have gone out, but been forgetful enough to leave a pan cooking on the stove? Wilson turned around to leave the kitchen and stopped short, the breath catching in his throat.

"Bonnie!" She was sprawled on the kitchen floor against the back wall, half in the alcove where the table was. He hadn't seen her from the doorway. Wilson dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse, first in her wrist, then her neck. He lowered his cheek to her mouth to feel for breath signs. There was nothing. He fumbled for his phone, tears stinging in his eyes, his usually calm nerves shattered. The buttons seemed blurry, the numbers dancing mockingly in front of his eyes.

Finally the ambulance was on its way. Wilson pulled Bonnie out of the alcove into the middle of the floor and started CPR, not really counting the numbers of breaths and compressions he was doing, not noticing how cold she was, how pale her skin was in comparison to his own. All he could focus on was the thought that it was some how his fault; he had killed his wife. If he'd been faster getting home, he could have prevented this, saved her life.

It was only when the ambulance crew physically pulled him off her so they could take her to hospital that Wilson snapped out of his daze. When she was pronounced DOA twenty minutes later he felt his soul shatter. He was destroying this golden world piece by tiny piece. He needed to get home.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10, in which the decision is revealed...

* * *

_Princeton, c.1957_

_"You know you really shouldn't go Tom. You could be changing people's lives. This is a major decision."_

_Tom sighed. "I know, I know, you keep telling me that. I just don't put as much faith in those theories as you do."_

_"No, you put faith in the gospel," Hugh muttered._

_"It's my life. I can do what I want."_

_"But it won't just be your own life you affect! Why can't you understand?"_

_"We're just students, Hugh! Everything we do or say will be forgotten in fifty years time! Your theories may look good now, but some guy at Harvard might have found alien life or cured cancer! It's irrelevant!"_

_"Fine. You go ahead. But this is it- your one big decision. The many worlds start here."_

_"Stop sounding so ominous. Come down to Lexington at the end of the semester- unless I've altered the course of history and destroyed the future by then."_

_Hugh smiled. "All right. Have a safe journey. See you in the summer."_

_The two friends shook hands and Tom left Hugh in his small office, alone with his theories and his thoughts. Tom was moving west in search of work; he was a newly qualified minister and wanted to get started. Hugh had just finished his PhD thesis and was sure that his friend was making a bad decision. He just couldn't stop him._

* * *

_A little under two years later…_

_"She's married," Tom said mournfully. "And I slept with her."_

_Hugh groaned internally. "I told you no good could come of you moving down here."_

_"Her husband's away with the Marines. What happens if he finds out? He'll kill me!"_

_"Your bigger problem is what happens if she gets pregnant."_

_The colour fell from Tom's face. He'd apparently been too busy thinking about the end of his own life to consider the start of another. "Oh dear God…"_

_"He's not going to help you," Hugh scoffed. "He's the one that got you into this mess!"_

_"Say something helpful, why don't you?"_

_Hugh sighed. "What can I say? You'll just have to wait and see."_

* * *

_Nine months later…_

_Blythe looked up from the newborn baby in her arms to study Tom's face._

_"What shall I tell John? Does he need to know?"_

_Tom shook his head. "Don't tell him, please," he begged. "He'll kill me."_

_Blythe sighed. "He looks like a Greg wouldn't you say? Gregory Thomas House."_

_Tom swallowed and said nothing._

_"John won't be home for a few months anyway," Blythe continued. "I'll write and tell him he's got a strong little boy waiting at home for his Dad. He'll be so proud." __She sniffed. "I'm sorry Tom. I just can't leave him. He's my husband."_

_"I understand." Tom squared his shoulders, kissed his son's forehead and left._

* * *

Wilson jolted awake, breaking out of the feverish dream. He smelled of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke. He was in his apartment, half dressed and tangled in the bed sheets, sweating and hot. Since Bonnie's death two weeks ago, he'd gone off the rails in a big way, rivalling House's binges back in his own world. He'd spent every night and a good portion of each day at a bar- Cuddy had given him three weeks of bereavement leave and he was making the most of it. House had driven him home at least four times in the past fortnight, and Wilson knew his out-of-character behaviour was worrying his friend.

Wilson felt like he'd gone through the looking glass; their friendship was completely reversed. He thought he enjoyed this side more. He downed something out of bottle at his bedside, washed it down with something form the one on the floor and promptly fell asleep again.

It was about two hours later when Wilson woke again. His hangover pounded the insides of his skull, but he pushed it to the side, realising the importance of the dream. He'd found the answer. He knew the decision which lead to such huge differences between the worlds. House's biological father had decided to move to Lexington, where House's mother happened to be at the time. They had slept together and House was conceived. At least, that was what had happened in Wilson's world. He had a strong feeling that House had a different history here.

Disappointment crushed in as he realised that the knowledge did nothing; he had not miraculously gone back to his own world, and his personal situation was no better. His wife was dead- it didn't feel like it was just his other self's wife, Bonnie was just as much his, as was the blame and guilt. She had apparently died of a massive brain hemorrhage which Wilson couldn't have saved her from anyway, but he still felt hugely responsible. Luckily he found this feeling was dulled immensely by alcohol. Wilson hauled himself out of bed to scrounge for some food in the bare apartment. He'd question House on his parentage later.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11, in which Wilson sobers up...

* * *

Sunday morning found House making his way over to Wilson's apartment, hoping to find his friend awake and sober. Thanksgiving was on the horizon and his old Marines unit were organising a big get-together as a ten-year anniversary celebration of their return from Afghanistan. His family were invited and he was planning to ask Wilson too. The man needed some cheering up after the sudden death of his wife. That wasn't even approaching the bigger issue; Wilson's arrival in this world as a stranger, his replacement by himself. House couldn't get his head around it; he only hoped Wilson could make more sense of it.

He parked his car and crutched to the elevator, taking it up to the sixth floor of the apartment building. He reached the end of the corridor and knocked sharply, hoping to rouse Wilson even if he was still asleep.

"Go 'way," a hoarse voice called from within.

"It's me," House called.

"Use your damn key."

House sighed and leaned against the doorframe, freeing one hand to rummage for his key in his pockets.

"I don't have it."

A sigh, then footsteps shuffled to the door. House balanced himself just in time before the door swung open, revealing a very dishevelled Wilson. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot, he reeked of alcohol and there was a faint whiff of vomit too. He was wearing a grubby shirt and the same jeans that House had seen him in a week ago, the ones with the sticky beer stain near the crotch. House coughed and went into the apartment to survey the mess. Cans littered the floor, a waste bin near the couch had vomit in it and there were liquor bottle scattered around on various flat surfaces. House sighed.

"Go and take a shower, Wilson, and put on clean clothes if you have any."

Wilson said nothing, just walked to the bathroom, leaving House to clean up the mess. The cans all went in the garbage, the liquor went down the drain, along with all the rest of the alcohol in the kitchen. House also found a small bag of white powder in the kitchen, which he also washed down the drain. He moved the entire vomit-containing bin outside the apartment. He'd throw the whole thing in a dumpster later.

The shower shut off and presently Wilson came back into the living room, looking a little more alive now. He slumped onto the couch and looked at House with mournful eyes.

"This has got to stop, Wilson! You can't just drink the rest of your existence away! And was that cocaine I found in there? Meth? What was it?"

Wilson looked vaguely panicked. "You threw that out?"

"Of course I did!"

"Never mind then."

"Right, you can come over for lunch and dinner today, but after that you are sobering up and looking after yourself again. I can't clean up your mess anymore."

Wilson had the decency to look ashamed. "I'm sorry House, I just… Bonnie just died, I got landed in this crazy fucking place just before that… I can't deal with it." Tears pricked his eyelids.

House relented and sat down next to his friend, putting an arm around his shoulders. Wilson seemed surprised at the contact.

"Okay, maybe I was a little harsh. But you do need to do something. Maybe get counselling for a while to help with losing Bonnie; about the whole switching universes thing, just try and figure out what caused it. Maybe if you find the decision that split the worlds, you can get back."

"I already figured out the decision- I think," Wilson replied mournfully. "It hasn't made the slightest bit of difference."

Curiosity sparked in House's eyes. "What was the decision?"

"Well… in my world, your father wasn't your real father. As far as I know, he abused you because of that, and so you hated him. It affected your life, long term. Whereas here-"

"My father's my real father," House cut in. "So I look up to him, respect him, follow in his footsteps."

"Yeah," Wilson agreed. "You actually become a well-rounded human being."

"So you think it was my mother's decision to what, cheat? Was she married at that point?"

"I think so, but the real decision is earlier still. It's in 1957, when your biological father chose to move from Princeton to Lexington, where you mother was. His friend was Hugh Everett, the guy who wrote the damn theories in the first place. He warned your father, Tom, not to go, but Tom did anyway. Well, in my world he did. Here he stayed in Princeton, never met your mother and your father is your father."

"Wow. How did you figure this out?"

"I dreamt it."

"You dreamt it?" House sounded sceptical.

Wilson shrugged. "I guess alcohol's good for something."

House gave a small laugh. "We'd better get going, Stacy's cooking lunch specially, seeing as I said I'd bring you over. I'll tell her about this stuff later."

"All right," said Wilson and they left the dingy apartment, stepping out into the cold November sunshine.


End file.
